


For you, there's only love

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, bedannibal in paris, it always is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 10:31:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17303009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: “May I?” his voice is shy with raspy consonants suddenly slipping off his tongue.An enticing choice but the question feels needless; it is not the first time they have ventured behind this particular veil.





	For you, there's only love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Edge_sama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edge_sama/gifts).



The river of lights ripples below, trickling flashes unfolding before Bedelia’s eyes, interspersed with glistening drops of rain. She maps the labyrinth of streets from above, rediscovering its familiarity; she had planned to return here someday but not under such _sudden_ circumstances. The rain increases its fall, battering against the window and slowly obscuring the view until it all melts into a hazy golden aura. It does not matter to Bedelia as her attention has long shifted; she now looks at the reflection in the glass, the room and the man standing in its middle.

Hannibal finishes unbuttoning his shirt and removes it in one smooth gesture. The concept of the person suit has been quite literal, it seems, as he has enjoyed strolling around their suite half naked from the moment they arrived. Not that she complains. She suppresses a pleased smile as her eyes survey the reflection of his broad back, watching him fold the shirt neatly and place it on a chair.

Her own attire remains impeccable even though their day has ended prematurely. The weather has interrupted their walk around the city and got them rushing back to the hotel. No matter, Bedelia thinks, she has had enough excitement for one day. It was a strange sensation, to say the least, promenading down the streets of Paris arm in arm with Hannibal, attentive to her every need. She felt suspended half way between dream and reality, expecting it to turn into a nightmare but still not wanting to wake up.

“I am sorry our plans were disrupted,” he comments, venturing into her thoughts, and walks to stand behind her, observing the blurry landscape of the city of lights.

“That is quite alright,” she turns to look at him, “The city will still be here tomorrow.”

Hannibal nods, his expression shifting unexpectedly nervous, as he contemplates their next potential activities. His hand reaches out slowly to touch her cheek but stops mid-way.

“May I?” his voice is shy with raspy consonants suddenly slipping off his tongue.

An enticing choice but the question feels needless; it is not the first time they have ventured behind this particular veil. Her lips press in her usual manner of contempt, but she cannot ignore the sudden heat rising under her skin. Their previous moments together were borrowed, brief encounters behind the curtain of reality, never lingering.

But this is different.

Bedelia inhales slowly as the air grows heavy. The gilded décor of the room shines under the illumination of the lamps, augmenting the sensation of a dream. Hannibal’s eyes are equally bright, hunger and desire flickering within the irises as they turn darker, making the previous hours of their day appear immaterial. A small twitch appears in the corner of his lips, wavering between a smile and uncertainty. She knows he has been waiting for this moment, a chance to have all of her, like a delicacy needed to be sampled without haste. And she finds herself equally nervous at the prospect.

A sharp response has been brewing in her mind, but the words swell in her throat. She nods instead, once, a clear consent. The quiver blooms into a full smile as his hand moves to her cheek, thumb caressing its lines. It will never cease to amaze her, how warm his touch is; he feels more alive than anyone she has ever met, a strange irony. His eyes follow the path of his thumb as he silently catalogues the lines of face as if seeing it for the first time. All of the sudden, Bedelia feels naked under his gaze, a sensation of vulnerability rather than a psychical attribute and it makes her skin blush. The hand moves to the back of her head, removing the pin holding her hair up and easing it down her shoulders. His fingers venture between the strands, stroking the length of her locks but not pulling, revelling in the feel. Her skin tingles, sending waves of inviting warmth down her body which settles in a hot pool beneath her belly. Instinctively, she presses herself forward as if in search of more heat and their lips meet in a kiss. Hannibal’s mouth is even warmer than his touch, brushing hers unrushed, continuing his intended discovery.

“ _M_ _eravigliosa_ ,” he murmurs into her mouth, unexpectedly switching to Italian, a foreshow of things to come, she supposes, but his voice is like a spark making her body hum with electricity.

Bedelia’s mouth parts and stills, breathing him in and giving into her own longing. Hannibal opens her mouth further with his lips as they sink into the kiss, deep and fierce, their lips melding into one. Bedelia’s hands cup his cheeks, fingers pressing, as if she could not bring him close enough. He lets out a soft groan at her gesture while his hands shift to her back, tracing its curve before finding the zipper and pulling it down as his mouth lingers on hers. The dress falls to the ground in a splash of fabric; sudden goose bumps appear on her exposed body. She feels at disadvantage and reaches her hand to touch his chest, but he takes her hand and gently kisses her palm, making it clear that this moment is about her and her alone. The gleam in his eyes is different now, tenderer; it makes her knees weak. His fingers travel down her shoulders, thumbs carefully tracing her shoulder blades until his delicate touch reaches the clasp of her brassiere. Bedelia inhales sharply as it joins the dress in the tangle on the floor.

Hannibal smiles and dips his head, his nose stroking the column of her neck then pressing a soft kiss on the prominent bone above her breasts; a playful flick of the tongue follows as if he were marking his favourite spot. But Bedelia has no time to consider his quirks as his lips now advance to her breasts, making all her remaining thoughts obsolete. He pauses, his gaze resting on the soft mounds, now raising and falling in a more prominent way as Bedelia’s breath quickens. Hannibal takes a moment to regard them like the finest piece of art he has ever seen, then finally bends down to take one in his mouth and suckle. Involuntary moans slips pass her parted lips as his tongue proceeds to trace its curve with slow deliberation, tongue flicking over her nipple repeatedly. She leans against the window for support as his mouth moves to her other breast, the abundance of sensations taking over.

Bedelia has always considered sex as a contractual act of give and take; two people fulfilling each other’s needs to mutual benefit and nothing more. But this is something _more_ ; she has never had anyone exploring her body this way. She gasps as Hannibal kneels in front of her, tongue now outlining her ribcage, kisses dotting the way to her abdomen. It is exhilarating; Bedelia’s eyes follow his lips wandering down her body, turning the heat within her molten and making her drip with want.

The lips halt below her belly button and his hands move to the strap of her garter. He unfastens the clip and rolls the stocking down her leg consciously and unhurriedly, warm hands caressing each inch of her skin. By the time he reaches her ankle, Bedelia’s legs quiver; the echo of his touch remains, his fingertips lastingly imprinted on her skin. He removes the stocking and proceeds to the other leg; she can see him inhaling deeply, savouring the strong scent of her arousal and no doubt cataloguing each of its note with care. And the thought of it excites her further. As his hands caress her increasingly unsteady leg, she presses her palms against the glass in an attempt to steady herself. He smiles, seeing her so undone, fingers stroking the underside of her knees before he bends down farther and presses a kiss on her calf, mouth moving up slowly to her inner thigh, marking his favourite, the most sensitive, places with a graze of his teeth, turning her legs into liquid.

The kisses stop just below her hip crease and his eyes focus on the only piece of fabric still left to be uncovered; a soft grin pulls at the corner of his lips as his fingers trace the soaked fabric of her undergarment, but it is too brief of a touch. It is maddening; Bedelia sighs with quiet impatience as his thumbs hook the edges of the lace and pull it down her legs, leaving her naked and wanton. He licks his lips, his mouth hovering close to her centre, his warm breath opening her even further, dripping and lustful. Bedelia feels she is no longer in control of her body. Hannibal looks up at her, splayed against the glass, the city of lights shining behind her, but his eyes see nothing but her.

“ _Perfetto_ ,” he purrs and dips his head between her legs.

One slow, probing lick of his tongue over her clit and she almost loses her balance. His hands reach to grab her hips and keep her in place as his mouth locks with her folds. Bedelia’s hand grasps his head, fingers tangling in his hair, as much for support as a way of keeping him in the spot. Hannibal hums in delight as his tongue does its wonders in broad strokes and lush sucks. The shimmering lights dim and vanish as the room dissolves into blankness and Bedelia is aware of nothing more than his mouth on her. He takes his time in orchestrating the harmony of her fulfilment, consuming her with a connoisseur’s fervour. His slurps and her moans resonate louder than the downpour, both increasing in volume as he continuous to please her.

When her pleasure finally reaches its crescendo, it is so tremendous her legs give way at the force of her orgasm. Hannibal’s hands dig into her flesh as he holds her up, her thighs locked on both sides of his head, the continuous flicks of tongue igniting her ecstasy to no end.

When her trembling finally abides, his hands release her hips and they both stand up, Bedelia’s legs shaking still. A smug smile adorns Hannibal’s lips, together with a daub of her juices. Bedelia’s hand reaches it to wipe the grin off his face, but instead, her fingers slowly smudge the coating further, contented with the mess she is responsible for. And so is Hannibal, slowly licking his bottom lip, not wanting to waste any drop of his finest dish. She manages to take a step forward and tilt her head to kiss him, tasting herself on his mouth, an intoxicating concoction. Her hands reach for his belt, removing it impatiently together with his pants, his last advantage now gone.

She is ready to lead him to bed when his arms wrap around her waist and lift her gently, their lips still locked firmly. He walks them away from the window and places her on the mattress with utmost care. It shifts under his weight as he kneels over her, a soft wave passing through her already pliant body. His eyes burn still, the heat of his body increasing by the minute; she admires his restrain and waits for it to give way to sudden pursuit of his own pleasure. But it does not; he leans forward, humming against her cheek, his warm breath trailing down Bedelia’s jaw to pool anew in her core. Despite her orgasm, her hunger for him has not subsided, quite the opposite, she wants more of him, _all of him_. The length of him brushes over her thigh, hard and hot, making Bedelia parts her legs, tilting her hips in silent encouragement.

A sly smile blooms on his lips as he takes her leg and wraps it around his hip. For all their new-found freedom, it is not the most adventurous choice of position, she reflects, but her thoughts are rendered nonsensical as he presses into her. She gasps as Hannibal braces himself on his arms above me. He lifts her hips, angling himself, ensuring she feels every inch of him as he begins to move in unrushed, languorous strokes. His eyes peer into hers, wide, sincere and bare in more than one way. The tight lovers’ embrace prevents her from pulling away and hide from the raw emotions as she would have done before. It splits something open within her as she holds his gaze, allowing intimacy that she has shied away from all her life.

He smiles, noticing the sensations springing within her, and lowers his head to kiss her. His thrusts increase in speed, his chest brushing her breasts and they breaths quicken in tandem. Muffled expressions of adoration slip from his lips to hers, words in his native tongue she does not understand, but his devotion is so evident, it transcends beyond the language barrier. Her legs wrap tighter around his hips as she allows for the new wave of pleasure to mount slowly while they rock together, a ship destined for the same shore. No one has ever discovered the ways of her body like Hannibal and she intends to savour every second of it.

The wave breaks slowly, moving in a tidal surge, vaster and deeper than any climax before. Her eyes close, a cry leaves her lips and her nails scratch paths across his back as her body tenses and relaxes in turn. As she opens her eyes with him still thrusting inside of her, he kisses her once more, a heartfelt declaration, before a loud rumble in his throat announces his own release. He comes with her name on his lips, sparking her pleasure anew, a loop binding their bodies for what seems like ad infinitum.

By the time Hannibal rolls to the side of the bed, pulling her with him, Bedelia feels limp, too relaxed to resist and simply lays her head on his chest, listening to his slowing heartbeat. The heat and scent of her shared pleasure suffuse the room, enveloping them in a cocoon of their own making, and Bedelia relishes the feeling. Hannibal’s fingers begin to play a gentle glissando on the curve of her back, in tune with the rain still falling against the windows, a postlude to the symphony he has composed on her body. Her limbs still languid, she allows herself to snuggle closer to him, sighing contentedly.

“What shall we do tomorrow?” she whispers in his ear, her curiosity aroused in a way she has never expected it to be.

There are many duet pieces waiting to be composed.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from "Religion" by Lana Del Rey. Plot-less smut is the hardest to write for me, but every aspect of their relationship is fun to explore and always worth it.  
> Happy New Year friends! ♥ Here's to yet another year of unrelenting bedannibal love!


End file.
